Burning
by Rose Larson
Summary: Moriarty's last attempt to burn out Sherlock's heart failed, but it seems his newest idea is working. Can Sherlock gather himself enough to save his friends? First fanfiction ever, reviews are appreciated!


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p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif';""You know, it's getting sooo boring kidnapping John all the time. I thought I'd mix it up a bit." Moriarty's voice sounded uninterested. "I figured it might kill Mrs. Hudson, she's so old you know...so I decided Detective Inspector Lestrade was the perfect target." Sherlock was getting impatient. "Yes, yes, I know you have Lestrade. What are the terms of your release?" "Well, let's see. I don't know if I will release him. He's quite fun, actually." Sherlock hissed at Anderson. "Are you tracing this? Do you have a location?" Moriarty's voice came through the phone. "Sherlock! You naughty boy! That's cheating! I thought we had an agreement! You can't trace this call anyway, though. I think you know Greg isn't in Tibet." Sherlock cursed. "What do you want?!" Even Sally Donovan could tell that the detective was getting desperate. It was a strange sight. She looked on from her position near the door and frowned. This whole scene was making her stomach hurt. Lestrade didn't show up for work for the first time since his wife left him, then it was discovered that Moriarty's men had picked him up, then the Freak actually cared about Greg and showed it in front of all of Scotland Yard; it was too much to handle. She needed a cup of coffee. "What do I want? To burn the heart out of you, Sherlock. You're my biggest distraction, but I'm going to win," Moriarty drawled through the phone. "What does Lestrade have to do with your stupid game? I thought it was supposed to be between you and me," Sherlock countered. "I've learned that the easiest way to hurt someone is through their friends. Even though 'you don't have friends.' Well, this has been a very dull little chat. I think you're losing your skill, Sherlock. I'm going to need a new distraction. Toodles!" Moriarty ended the call. Lestrade's office was completely silent. "Well, what do you suggest, Mr. Holmes?" asked an officer. Sherlock glanced towards the voice. "Happily married, one boy, two girls. Your dog has bone cancer. I am not losing my skill!" Sherlock yelled as the man gaped. "You're right..." he managed. Dr. Watson stepped forward to calm his friend. "Sherlock, relax. Moriarty just said that to make you angry." "Yes, yes, of course. I know. Now, Sergeant Donovan, go look through security videos of the subway. See if you can spot Lestrade. Anderson, find Greg's ex-wife. Alert her of the situation. Find out if she knows anything. What are you doing? Hurry up! Go!" Sherlock had collected himself again, and was back to ordering everyone around like he owned Scotland Yard. At this point, maybe he did. Sherlock left Lestrade's office. John hurried to catch up. "What's our next step?" John asked the flustered detective as they walked towards the exit. "Our? Oh, yes. You and I. Well, Moriarty will stop at nothing to 'burn the heart out of me.' His last attempt didn't work, so now he's going through my...friends and hurting them. I assume he wanted to kidnap you, but since you're always by my side it would be difficult," Sherlock explained. "Always by your side?" John mumbled. "You know what I mean. Lestrade was unprotected. Stupid. I should have predicted this." "What was that last bit?" John followed Sherlock through the Yard. "What's stupid?" "Nothing. Moriarty will probably physically hurt Lestrade and send me pictures or videos, to make me feel guilty, or sentimental, or some emotion. I don't know. Then he will move on to physiological torture. We need to find him before that, or it'll be too late." "So what should we do?" "My guess is that Greg's being held in a rural area, presumably in an abandoned building. Moriarty's got a dramatic flair. I'll ask my homeless network to keep an eye out, and find out if they have any information. Perhaps one of them saw the abduction. If no one has information, I'll return to Baker Street and await Moriarty's delivery." "What do you want me to do?" John stood with Sherlock on the sidewalk. Sherlock hailed a cab. "I don't know. Help Donovan and Anderson. Make sure their incompetence doesn't kill Lestrade." John stared as his friend drove off in his cab. Sherlock was never like this, showing he had feelings. It was worrying./span/p  
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p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 12pt; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-size: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial;"John felt useless. Donovan and Anderson didn't want his help, and he had no idea where Sherlock was. He probably didn't want help either. "Should I force Sally or Phillip to let me tag along? Should I go back to the flat?" John wondered. He stood on the sidewalk outside Lestrade's house indecisively. He decided to call Sherlock and ask for instructions. It went straight to voicemail. "His phone must be off," John thought. "I'll just go back to the flat." He hailed a cab and drove away./span/p  
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 12pt; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-size: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial;"Sherlock was getting frustrated. He shouldn't have left Greg alone, he should have seen this coming, and he should have found him by now. Moriarty was an expert at covering his tracks. His homeless network knew nothing. "Back to the flat," he thought, defeated. /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 12pt; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-size: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial;"Moriarty's voice was taunting. "Well, Gavin, or was it Geoff? He doesn't even care enough to remember your name. He won't put himself in danger to save you. 'Lestrade, do this. Lestrade, don't be an idiot.' He doesn't care about you." "Then why did you kidnap me?" Lestrade shot back. He was tied to a chair in some sort of a basement. He'd just gotten off the subway on his way to work when someone had stabbed him with a needle and he'd passed out from the drugs. Moriarty kicked him in the stomach. Hard. "It's so fun!" Moriarty said. "But really, you are quite sad. Sherlock solves all your cases, your wife left you..." Lestrade interrupted him. "Sod. Off." "No career, no wife, no friends, no hope..." "SOD OFF!" Moriarty was getting to him. "Calm down," he thought to himself. "He's just trying to make you mad." "Okay, so would you rather be whipped, or burnt?" Moriarty asked. "Neither." "But if you had to choose..." "Well, since you're asking, whipped." Lestrade didn't like that evil glimmer in his eye. "Darn. Burning would be so poetic. All well, it was your choice." He snapped his fingers. "Breening? Williams? Get in here! Let's get the party started!"/span/p  
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